Unplanned
by Jabyar
Summary: She has known she's pregnant for about a week and she's still too scared to tell him. Not just because she's afraid of how he'll react. But also because she doesn't know if it's his. Set after Season 11's "Spooked"
1. Chapter 1

**Six Weeks**

She has known she's pregnant for about a week and she's still too scared to tell him. Not just because she's afraid of how he'll react. But also because she doesn't know if it's his.

They used protection. So theoretically the odds shouldn't be good that it's his.

The problem is, she used protection with Dean too.

And the sex took place twelve hours apart. Not even the best OBGYN can estimate time of conception to that degree of precision.

And so Olivia's been walking a tightrope all week. On Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday she convinced herself she needed to tell Elliot. She also convinced herself the baby must be his. Because she loves him and not Dean. Dean was a one-night stand, a mistake, an act that took place in a moment of weakness and vulnerability. And she doesn't believe she'll ever see him again.

On Monday and Wednesday she completely talked herself out of ever breathing a word of this to Elliot. At her most irrational, on Wednesday, she convinced herself she would wear baggy clothes and be extra-careful while in the field and that he would never have to know. And then, she would tell him the adoption agency finally said yes. Then on Friday, when she thought this strategy through, she realized that of course she would have to tell him, but not _yet. _Because the baby couldn't possibly be his. Because God doesn't love her that much.

x-x-x-x-x-x

He knew she wouldn't be able to handle what they'd done. He shouldn't be so hard on her, because he freaked out a little too. But she's been acting weird and he's afraid she's going to give them away.

Of course, if he were truly honest with himself, he would admit that six weeks later, he still spends obscene amounts of his time thinking about it, remembering it. Hell, reliving it. In places like the shower, his bed, the men's room.

He still can't believe he had sex with his partner. In no less auspicious of a location than the stationhouse.

This is what sleep deprivation will do to you, he thinks warily. And then he laughs to himself: _of course_ he would blame it on lack of sleep. Nothing to do with how badly he's _wanted _to do such a thing for the better part of a decade. Nothing to do with the fact that Kathy had just left him, _again, _and that he knew in his heart that this time it was for good. Nothing to do with the fact that on her worst day, Olivia's fucking gorgeous, and that in some way he still can't articulate, she was looking _particularly_ sexy that day. Not to mention that she _gets _him like no one else ever has and that she was _there._ Oh, and that he loves her.

But yes. She's been acting strangely and he's not sure if he should broach the topic with her or let it lie. But jeez, it happened weeks ago, and so he's a little annoyed that she still can't get it together. At some point, Cragen's going to notice.

They haven't done it again since. They both agreed that it _couldn't _happen again. Because they're partners and their partnership is more important than another quickie.

The thing is, he wishes it hadn't been a quickie. Though the sex was fucking mind-blowing, he wishes he could do it again just so that he could do it properly, so that she could go away not feeling like he _fucked_ her.

Because she deserves better than to be slammed up against a locker room wall.

x-x-x-x-x-x

**Seven weeks**

Damn it. She's let another week go by and she still hasn't told him. She's a little stressed out about this, but she's also so elated about the prospect of finally having a baby that most of the time this is what she focuses on. In some ways she doesn't care whose baby it is, because the bottom line is that this baby is _hers _and there's nothing in the world she wants more. She's forty-one years old and she's going to finally have a baby. Sometimes the surrealism of this hits her so viscerally that she has to say the words out loud to get herself to process that they're actually true.

She knows she'll have to stop working the field the second Cragen finds out. Her job is simply too dangerous.

Suddenly in the last week she's been experiencing first-trimester symptoms. Fortunately, they haven't always taken the form of nausea, which Elliot would notice and either grow worried or suspicious about. Unfortunately, they've come in the form of extreme exhaustion. Which, on the surface, would seem a lot easier to manage than nausea, but in reality is not: she has discovered that no one in the workplace ever lends their sympathy for you just for being tired, because everyone is tired all the time. Until now, however, she did not appreciate what true fatigue felt like. Every morning when her alarm clock rings every fiber of her being wishes upon it a sentence of Death by Lethal Window Hurl. And yet she's acutely aware that unlike time taken off for even the most benign of illnesses or injuries, an extra hour taken in the morning to merely sleep in would be regarded as a sign of indolence.

She still can't believe she slept with Dean, after all that he did to her. Risked her life, betrayed her, kept her in the dark, lorded his position over her. And how does she reclaim her self-respect? She sleeps with the bastard.

_Nice, Olivia, _she chides herself for the zillionth time in seven weeks.

And the irony is that she and Dean spent all night in her bed. He was attentive and patient and all the things she theoretically would have wanted in a lover. Except for one thing.

He wasn't Elliot.

Whereas Elliot fucked her against a wall like a caveman. In all of fifteen minutes he fucked her brains out and it was done. It wasn't anything like how she would have pictured it.

In the end, it really only had one thing going for it: it was, after all, Elliot doing the fucking.

Lately she's been thinking a lot about how babies get made. She laughs to herself, thinking about how nature sure has a twisted sense of humor that an act so unchaste by definition could lead to something that is the epitome of sweetness and innocence. And those are the times when she manages to convince herself the baby must be Dean's, because Elliot fucked her with such anger and determination and lust and force, how could a baby possibly result from that?

And then other times she convinces herself the baby has to be Elliot's precisely for the same reason: because Dean's lovemaking was so gentle and sweet and timid and, ultimately, lacking in passion, surely such lethargy would carry over to his sperm.

She didn't deliberately sleep with two different men in twelve hours. It was just that Dean came over that night to apologize for how he'd treated her over the Ramona Ramirez case and for his insensitive remark about their feelings not mattering, and low and behold one thing led to another. It was no surprise really; they'd always been attracted to each other and she'd known he was just doing his job. And so it happened and he spent the night. In the morning, he got up and kissed her forehead and she told him it wouldn't work out. He said he understood and told her it was probably for the best; now that the case was over, he was being assigned a case in DC and was due there the next day. And that was that.

Her horniness obviously carried over into the next day, she's convinced, because otherwise she probably never would have responded to Elliot's subtle, pheromone-laden signals. It's not like she'd never been alone in the locker room with her partner before. It's not like she'd never seen him shirtless, his chest puffed up and coated by a thin sheen of sweat from having just worked out. It's not like he'd never given her that _look _before. It's just that she'd always forced herself to ignore such things. Pretend the same thing wasn't on _his _mind.

She likes to think that Elliot made the first move and that it was because his testosterone was pumping in primal response to Dean's having made obvious overtures towards her throughout the case.

She's pretty sure she's kidding herself on that one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Eight weeks **

Olivia has finally built up the courage to tell her partner. She doesn't know _what, _exactly, she'll tell him, since she's no better informed as to his paternity than she was two weeks ago. He'll obviously do the math and assume it's his. Then there will be the embarrassing moment when she tells him, actually, no, it's possible it's not.

Then he'll be angry and hurt and he'll toss off an insensitive remark about her apparent promiscuity that will humiliate her. And she'll have to take it because he'll be right. And then it'll blow over, as these things always do, and he'll call her and apologize and tell her he'll be there for her, regardless of what the eventual tests show.

Then there will be relative calm until the time comes when she's able to determine paternity and things will be tense for several weeks as they await the results. And then…. there will be either elation or devastation. On both of their parts.

She wonders whether Elliot will be a pessimist or an optimist when it comes to waiting for those results.

And then it occurs to her that maybe he'll want the baby to be Dean's. She knows he'd never actively try for a sixth, but shit, it's not crossed her mind till now that he might lobby God _not _to be the father.

But it's too late; she's already called him into a free interrogation room to tell him, having rehearsed her words all night and spent the better part of the morning summoning her courage.

But no sooner has she closed the door behind them than Cragen bursts in, having seen them go in there.

There's a new case and they're needed urgently.

Of course there is.

There's always a new case.

Olivia sighs and tells Elliot, never mind, it wasn't important.

And off they go.

x-x-x-x-x-x

**Nine Weeks**

They've been working this goddamn case for a week straight and Olivia's beyond exhaustion. She knows all this stress and fatigue can't possibly be good for her, but it's a high-profile case and she keeps thinking she and Elliot are one interview away from cracking it.

Also, she chickened out last week and hasn't been able to regain her nerve.

If she tells anyone now, she'll be yanked from the case and that just wouldn't be an auspicious start to her maternity leave. Besides, the case isn't dangerous per se; the players are pedophiles. They only hurt children.

These are the things she tells herself to justify keeping mum.

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach she'll pay the price for this, somehow, later.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Elliot's at the end of his ropes with this case. He would do anything to take a break to see his children, but Kathy's taken them to Rochester to live and though he nominally has visitation, it's a five-hour drive. He's bitter about this, but also knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on: it's not like he could say with a straight face to any judge that he did a good job seeing them when they were right here in New York.

But he's exhausted from this case and usually the only thing that keeps him going is knowing he can go home and see them, even if it's just to watch them sleep.

Things are still a little awkward with Olivia and he knows she's tired too but he longs to talk to her about that day in the locker room. He wants to know what she's thinking, how she's dealing with it.

What made her say yes.

What it would take to get her to say yes again….

But now's not the time.

Overnight the case went from being about catching a handful of pedophiles who had a penchant for sharing files to sinking a bona fide child pornography ring. Sensing that law enforcement has been on to them, the leaders of the ring have transferred their operations twice. They're technologically savvy, and this makes everything more difficult. He and Olivia have got lots of clues, too; once Morales picked up on their encryption technique, the connections within the network presented themselves. But even still, there appears to be one central leader – _the _big fish – and they can't seem to pick up his scent.

x-x-x-x-x-x

**Ten weeks**

As she approaches the end of her first trimester, she thinks she's finally gotten ahead of the constant fatigue. This last week has been rough; she's been nauseous constantly, and as a result she actually lost two pounds.

Thankfully, Elliot hasn't noticed at all. Because he seems to be just as tired.

This morning she noticed, for the first time, the microscopic beginning of a tummy. She cupped her hands around it, overcome by emotion. It's not big enough that anyone else would notice it, but she does. She knows it's there.

And suddenly it's real all over again. She realizes how ridiculous it's been that she hasn't told anyone at work. Not to mention that she's continued to do this job, this _dangerous _job, and she's carrying the only baby she'll likely ever have. How could she be so irresponsible? She is not a man; her body is charged with cultivating this life and how she treats her body will determine how her body treats her baby. She can protest this fact, or she can accept it.

She is forty-one years old and until now her identity has revolved around her job. She has understood for years that this lack of balance is not an ideal way to live, but it has worked for her and it's helped her cope with her demons and so as vices go she's always regarded her obsession with her job as a relatively benign one. But this morning as she stared in awe at the tiny bump, it hit her: such an obsession is no longer so benign. And she'll be damned if she's going to let a damaged psyche sabotage her one chance at true happiness.

She goes to work feeling terribly guilty and determined to tell Cragen. It doesn't mean she has to tell Elliot, she reasons; she can always tell Cragen to keep it hush-hush until she's worked out a plan. Cragen would go along with it. As long as she's out of the field, he'd be okay with it.

There's hubbub in Cragen's office when she arrives. She goes in and is utterly taken aback to find Dean sitting across from her boss, reclining in the stiff metal chair like it's his office too.

It seems their case has gone federal, and low and behold he is the agent who's been assigned.

Olivia wonders if the FBI doesn't have a sense of humor after all.

x-x-x-x-x-x

In the course of forty-eight hours the case has gone from being _merely_ big to being _CNN pundit-commentary-worthy_ big, and Elliot and his partner are _the_ lead detectives.

It's the biggest, best-organized child pornography ring they've ever encountered. From what they can tell there are hundreds of predators, with at least twenty-one in the New York area alone. To the best of their knowledge, the ring has existed since 1999, and is run by a pyramidal hierarchy of men. But like a drug ring, no one man knows anyone higher on the food chain than his direct superior. The ultimate leader, a presumed killer whom nobody knows by name, has likely made millions from the operation.

And, thanks to a random, unrelated comment made by Olivia, Elliot has stumbled upon their first solid lead.

Two days ago, after Cragen shooed them all out of his office and made it clear that they were to play nice with Porter and that oh, overtime was not optional, they gathered at their desks to regroup. Elliot's computer promptly flashed him the Blue Screen of Death and upon returning to life began asking him all sorts of questions he wished he had Dickie around to answer – like whether or not he was sure he wanted to reopen Outlook even though it had encountered a Fatal Error. Olivia laughed at his ineptitude and then mused aloud about how there ought to be a statute of limitations on the number of years the Internet could exist before it stopped being socially acceptable for parents to know less about computers than their kids.

And that's what got him thinking.

About adults today, who were children in the late-90's. About the fact that technology and the Internet weren't always so sophisticated, so complex, so opaque. About what the Internet was like in its infancy. About how digital recordings of abuse used to be stored on physical, tangible, _findable_ devices, like CDs.

As a result of his breakthrough in thinking, Elliot and Olivia have now spent the better part of two days hunting down and interviewing a short list of a half-dozen people who, based on their circumstances in 1999, they believe might have information that could break the case. So far they've struck out, but Elliot's optimistic; he knows, in his gut, that they're on the right track.

Most importantly, this time, he and Olivia are going to get credit for it. That bastard Porter won't pull the rug out from under their feet, because this lead is _theirs _and everyone knows it.

He tries to channel Olivia's excitement, but she seems off today, tired. Well no kidding, he thinks, they've been on this case for two weeks straight. Even so, he wishes his partner would share his enthusiasm. This is _big. _Commendation-worthy big. It could mean a promotion for both of them.

The witness is not home when they arrive. Disappointed, they decide to check his workplace. They stop for a hotdog and Elliot treats; he still feels some lingering guilt for how he treated Olivia, even though he knows she's a big girl and that it took two to tango that day. Still, he wants to take extra care to let her know he's still here, still committed to her, to the partnership. He feels that the small gesture of the hotdog, somehow, communicates this.

At least this is what he tells the gullible part of his brain.

The real reason, he knows, is far less noble. Ever since that douche bag Porter showed up again, Elliot's determined to keep her away from him. It really has nothing to do with jealousy per se; rather, the guy treated her like dirt and Elliot saw how hurt she was afterwards. And so Elliot's been doing what he can to court her, platonically, to make sure she'd rather spend time with him than with Dean.

No, it has _nothing_ to do with jealousy.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Olivia feels a little guilty eating a hotdog; she's supposed to be filling herself with omega-this and omega-that, but harmony with her partner is worth its weight in gold if it keeps her stress level down, she rationalizes. Also, she appreciates that he's been trying to be nice to her lately, even if he has no idea how timely such kindness is, given her situation.

Shit, her _situation_. Two days after her grand speech to herself, she is still out here, in the field. After Cragen made it clear to the team that he expected a first-class effort on this one, that it would pay off in multiples in the form of recognition from One PP and even the mayor's office, she knew she could not bail, not for a lousy couple extra days of work that would mostly consist of interviewing former child victims. Because there's no way in hell she's letting Dean solve this case, when she knows in her gut that Elliot's hunch is going to pay off. She's forty-one years old and she's devoted her life to seeking justice on others' behalves and so much of it has been thankless, grueling, heartbreaking and tedious. She'll be damned if she's going to be robbed of the chance to actually derive a modicum of satisfaction and yes, _glory,_ from all her sacrifices.

A man approaches them on the sidewalk as they turn away from the hotdog stand, clutching their messy, foil-clad food. He's young; perhaps in his early twenties, and disheveled and out of breath.

"Please," he pants, looking at them with desperation in his eyes, "are you cops?"

"We are," Olivia answers, "what's the problem?"

"Please, you've got to help me! My sister – she's passed out, I think she's OD'd. Please, please help me!"

"Where is she?" Olivia asks with concern. She pulls out her radio to call for help but the man stops her.

"No! Please, just come look at her! I don't know if she's – oh God!"

He takes off towards a low-rise apartment building across the street and Elliot and Olivia have no choice but to follow. The man sideswipes the building, however, and enters the narrow alley between it and the next building instead.

As they step into the alley, Olivia hears a crunching sound beneath her feet; she looks down and sees that she's stepped on a used syringe. "Nice," she mutters.

They penetrate deeper into the alley, where the young man is standing, huffing and puffing over a girl slumped against the wall of the building. The girl looks like a teenager and she is indeed very much passed out.

Elliot begins to radio for a bus as Olivia crouches in front of the girl, reaching to feel for a pulse.

They both look up as they hear the sound of a van entering the alley.

Nearly simultaneously, they both gasp in response to massive explosions of pain in their heads.

And then everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

As Olivia awakens on the floor of the tiny, dimly-lit room, the first thing she notices is a small window near the ceiling, through which a sliver of sunlight penetrates. The room is about two hundred square feet and totally bare, save for a single cot with a mangy-looking mattress on it. Across the room is an alcove; from her angle on the floor she can see a toilet and the bottom of what looks to be a sink. It feels like a cell, except that instead of bars, a heavy steel door encloses them.

Thank goodness they have a toilet, she thinks, because she's awfully nauseous. She wonders if she has a concussion or if this is just garden-variety morning sickness. At least there's a silver lining: if she starts to vomit, Elliot won't suspect a thing.

She has the presence of mind to know that Elliot's finding out about her pregnancy ought to be the least of her concerns, that it shouldn't even be on her _radar _of concerns right now. But it is, and she tells herself that it's because she's in shock. But she knows she's not; she knows that she's still preoccupied by her pregnancy and its implications for her relationship with her partner. She wonders what this says about her mental state that this is what she's focused on.

She looks over to Elliot, who is slumped next to her against the wall, still unconscious. "El?" she says quietly, touching his shoulder.

"Mmm…" he moans, slowly coming to. He opens his eyes, takes several seconds to acclimate and then promptly looks at her in alarm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assures him.

"He didn't hurt you?"

"Aside from the goose egg on my head? No."

"Okay," he says, eyeing her with concern.

She appreciates how his mind immediately goes to her. It's the first time she's ever been grateful that his knee-jerk instinct is to protect her. She takes a moment to analyze this. A part of her fiercely protests that her condition should dictate any change whatsoever in her perception of her own ability to take care of herself. Still, she recognizes how dangerous this situation is; now is no time to assert her independence or play heroine. She knows this, intellectually, but what troubles her is that she also _feels _it, this gratitude for his presence.

She chalks it up to hormones.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

They've been in this hell hole three days and Elliot can't be sure, but Olivia's starting to look weak. He noticed it this morning, when she only ate a bite of the vending-machine Snickers bar that has become their three-meal a day staple, giving the rest to him. Never in ten years of knowing her has she forgone chocolate on purpose. Moreover, she strikes him as listless and he wonders if she's coming down with something. On their first day of captivity she threw her guts up the whole afternoon, and he was concerned about a concussion. But it's been three days now and the vomiting has continued intermittently. Now he thinks she might really be getting sick.

That would be terrible, because he believes that if they're ever going to get out of here alive, it's going to be through their own ingenuity. They're going to have to escape, and based on the complete lack of noise outside, there isn't a lot of civilization in the vicinity. They might have quite a trek ahead of them.

He's thankful, though, for one thing: so far their kidnappers have not shown undue interest in his partner. They've been rough with her, manhandled her a bit, but they haven't raped her.

Which doesn't mean they won't. The younger one, the one who abducted them from the alley, seems tempted. Elliot hasn't liked the way he's eyed her from the beginning. And so the only reason he hasn't, Elliot figures, is because the older one, the leader, has instructed against it. For what reason, Elliot hasn't a clue. It would help if he understood what the hell his captors want with him and Olivia. So far, neither has said a word; three times a day one of them shows up sporting a very impressive Glock – Olivia's, he realized on the first day – and throws two candy bars at them. Between that and the faucet, he and his partner have managed to stay alive.

Meantime, there's nothing stopping the younger one from taking her out and assaulting her anyway, and this is what keeps Elliot up at night. Because instructions or no instructions, he doubts the leader would step in to stop it. Elliot's unsure of the extent to which she appreciates the danger she's in; she has not seemed nearly as paranoid as he feels. After what happened at Sealview, he speculates that perhaps such denial is a self-preservation technique. Regardless, he's hyper-vigilant.

Not that there's much he'd be able to do to protect her.

x-x-x-xx-x-x-x-x-x

She had hoped that the first trimester symptoms would've waned by now, but evidently her body isn't aware it's pushing eleven weeks. She's so dead-tired she can hardly think straight. Also, she's feeling weak and lethargic. She's also concerned because she hasn't taken her pre-natal vitamins in days and her diet has consisted of candy bars. She knows that given her situation, this should be the least of her worries. Since the dawn of time women have had babies who've managed to survive without folic acid supplements and Whole Foods-style organic food and omega-whatever fish oil. Still, she can't help but feel protective of her baby. She believes that her child might have a strike against it by inheriting her lousy genes and so she's been determined to do everything in her power to mitigate this. Because if this is Elliot's child – _if – _he will have five other perfect children against whom to compare this baby and she doesn't want to let him down.

She wonders whether it's a girl or a boy. If not for Eli, she would be strongly in favor of a boy, because she knows Elliot always secretly wanted another boy. But damn it if Kathy's accidentally-on-purpose last pregnancy didn't rob her of this one potential advantage too.

If not for her perception of Elliot's slight preference, which she believes he would probably still have in spite of Eli, Olivia would want a girl. Because then she'd never have to worry, or at least she'd worry less. About the genes a certain maternal grandfather might pass on.

She hates it that she's starting to bond with the idea of Elliot as the father. There's a running picture in her mind of him with her child, being a father to it, loving and protecting it as he has his other children. Every time he looks at her now, the concern and worry for her welfare so evident in his eyes, she pretends he's looking at her as the mother of the child he so adores rather than as the partner he accidentally fucked against a wall.

"How's Eli?" she now asks him, because the little boy is on her mind and because focusing on his other children is the only way she's able to stop focusing on hers. "Must be getting big."

She hears his sharp intake of breath and wonders why the question isn't a no-brainer for him to answer. He usually loves to gush about his kids. "He's doing well." He pauses. "From what I hear."

"Oh Elliot, Kathy giving you a hard time again? When is she going to learn that if not for all your long hours there wouldn't be food on the ta–"

"She left, Liv. She took Eli and the twins and went to Rochester."

She's genuinely surprised. "Oh, El…. I'm so… when did this happen?"

"The day before you and I…" he pauses awkwardly.

Suddenly it all makes sense. She's been feeling guilty for nothing.

And then it dawns on her, _he didn't tell her._

All this time, he's kept this to himself.

And so she doesn't feel so badly, now, that she hasn't managed to tell him her secret either.

And then she wonders why this should be a competition, why there should be any quid-pro-quo when it comes to their telling each other things.

They are partners, best friends. They had sex with each other once. He had his reasons not to tell her and she knows they have nothing to do with her, that she shouldn't take it personally. Just as she has her own reasons for not telling him about the pregnancy, and those reasons have nothing to do with her trust in him.

None of which is any excuse not to tell him, of course.

But it _is _an excuse to delay the news.

She sees how worried he is about her already. They're in a gravely dangerous situation, after all. This is no time to tell him she's in less than peak form and that there's yet another life in the room that he will undoubtedly feel obligated to protect with his own.

"But damn, Liv, you know I really miss him?" he continues, and Olivia is somewhat taken aback; he doesn't usually confide things like this.

"I'll bet," she says sympathetically.

"No, I mean, _really. _I just…. I can't adjust to not seeing him all the time. When he was born, you know, I had all these doubts. I thought… you know, I just… wasn't sure."

"That he was yours?" she confirms.

"Yeah."

"And now?"

"Now, I think if I found out he wasn't…" his voice trails off.

"You'd be devastated," she finishes for him.

"No. No, I was going to say the opposite. It wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change a thing."

**Eleven Weeks**

"You know," he starts to tell her, on what he believes to be day six of their captivity, "it seems to me that window's big enough to fit through."

"It's ten feet off the floor," she says, staring up at it.

"Yeah, but I'm thinking if we lift up the bed and lean it against the wall, we could climb up the bed."

"Elliot, that bed's way too heavy for you to lift."

"You could help me," he suggests. "I'm sure the two of us together could lift it."

There's no way in hell she's helping Elliot lift a thousand-pound bed, let alone climbing it and then shimmying her way through a window that will likely have jagged shards of glass hanging from it. She appreciates it that he doesn't consider her too dainty to help him with the task, but damn it if his timing in suddenly embracing her hardiness doesn't totally stink.

She tries to think of a reason to shoot his plan down. "We don't know where we are. It's freezing outside. We have no winter clothes. We could die of exposure if it turns out we're in the middle of nowhere. We shouldn't do this until it's clear we're out of options."

"Okay," he concedes. "You're right. I think I'm just getting antsy, sitting in this room twenty-four seven."

_Phew, _she thinks.

And then she sees how irrational she's being, nixing a possibly viable escape plan because of the risks of a miscarriage, when every day that she stays in this place the mortal threat to her own life, the ultimate keeper of that of her child, grows ever more dire.

But even in the face of such logical reasoning, she's a hostage to a lifetime of conditioning that has taught her to value other people's lives above her own, no matter what the consequences.

And it is during moments of insight like these, when she recognizes her own pathology for what it is, that she is scared to death of becoming a mother.

x-x-x-xx-x-x-x-x-x

They've been playing every word game they can come up with, and Elliot's tired and bored and cranky. He wishes he could have a real conversation with his partner; that is, one about _them._ He's not used to initiating such conversations, however. That's usually her domain. But if he waits for her, they might be rescued by the time she brings it up. And he figures while they're here and he's dying of boredom, he might as well get something off his chest.

"So, uh…. I was gonna ask you, uh…" he stammers. Damn. It all sounded a lot more eloquent in his head. "Should we talk about it?" he finally manages.

"About what?"

"You know what."

"Oh Elliot," she sighs. "It was weeks ago. It just… happened."

"Did you… want it to happen?" he asks tentatively.

"Are you asking if you did it against my will?" she asks, taken aback.

He's struck by how her mind instantly interprets the question. _No wonder most people get out of SVU after two years_, he thinks.

"No! No, of course not," he says. "I just… wanted to know if you had any regrets."

She wonders if he can read her mind. For a second, she's not sure how to respond. But then she realizes he's looking at her expectantly, taking her silence to mean she's thinking of a gentle way to tell him that yes, she regrets it. "I have no regrets," she says earnestly. "Except maybe for the venue," she adds lightly.

He nods. "Yeah, me too. I'm sorry… I'm sorry I was a little rough," he adds sheepishly.

She's glad at this moment they're sitting side-by-side against the wall so that he can't see the blush she's sure has just metastasized across her face. She doesn't want to tell him that it was the hottest sex she's had in years. Hell, ever. "It's okay. You should know, I wanted you too. I had for a while."

He's utterly relieved. "It _was _good sex," he agrees, turning to face her and raising a knowing eyebrow.

She almost laughs as it occurs to her that _that _would be a great way to pass the time right now. No need for protection, she thinks ruefully. Not that he knows that.

_Shit, _she thinks. She still hasn't told him. What does she think, this is some sort of game? She and Elliot are at the mercy of ruthless kidnappers and she's pregnant and both of their lives are in danger and she's busy imagining how it would be to be pushed up against the wall of this room and –

"Olivia." His voice cracks through her reverie, hitting her cold.

"Yeah?"

"Everything okay?" he asks gently.

She detects how loaded the question is and tries to deflect. "You mean besides being held captive?"

"Yes, besides that," he says seriously. She loves it and hates it at the same time that he can read her so well.

She almost tells him. Almost.

And then she doesn't.

Because the second he expresses his thoughts on being made a father again, she won't be able to lie to him. And then she'll have to face him, his anger, his disappointment, all his emotions, with no possibility of turning away, of letting him cool down, of retreat.

"I'm fine," she says reassuringly. "Just… tired."

"Can I ask you a serious question then, and promise to tell me the truth?"

She freezes. She hesitates, then sees she has no choice but to answer him. "Okay…"

"Are you feeling okay?"

She blinks. "What?"

"You… you, uh, haven't looked that well. Do you think you've come down with something?"

"I… I uh…" Her instinct is to deny it, but she recalls she promised to tell him the truth, and she also realizes that admitting to this might throw him off her scent about the bigger secret she's keeping. "Actually, yeah, I think so. I feel kind of under the weather."

"Shit," he breathes. "That's not good."

She almost laughs out loud.

_If only you knew the half of it._

But the somewhat comical image of his state of blissful ignorance is abruptly overshadowed by a foreboding sense of dread as she recognizes just how devastated she'll be if Elliot turns out not to be the father.

And then she nearly loses it altogether as it suddenly occurs to her that none of it will matter at all if they don't get out of here alive.


	4. Chapter 4

They've been searching in vain for Elliot and Olivia for a week and the pressure and fatigue is starting to get to everyone. Cragen hasn't slept a wink since they've gone missing. The child pornography ring has been fully passed off to the FBI, as Porter pointed out was appropriate all along. It's just as well. Cragen couldn't concentrate on a case right now if he tried. Meanwhile, Porter has volunteered his and his team's services to help look for Elliot and Olivia. Cragen hates it that he's enlisted the help of the man who hurt Olivia so viscerally, but when it comes to the lives of his two best detectives, he's willing to swallow his pride on her behalf.

Predictably, Porter attempts to take over the investigation, pointing out repeatedly that he has better investigative resources at his disposal than they do. He is confident that he will find Olivia, he assures them.

It doesn't go unnoticed on anyone that Porter fails to mention Elliot too.

Cragen is less than impressed with Porter's detective skills, however. So far, his team has come up with zilch in the way of leads. All Porter's managed to do is antagonize every one of Cragen's people.

As far as everyone can tell, Elliot and Olivia went to Sharon Johanson's workplace and then vanished into thin air. No security camera caught the abduction; no one's even sure on what block it took place. A canvas of the area turned up a hotdog vendor who believes he saw a young man approach Elliot and Olivia right after they patronized his stand, but he can't describe the man at all. Evidently he was more interested in staring at Olivia.

Nobody wants to address the fact that in the absence of communication from the kidnapper, the most viable scenario is that they're dead.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Eight days after they go missing, Porter finally does come up with a lead.

It's an old case of Olivia's. The perp, one Douglas Reslow, spent ten years in federal prison on drug charges before being released on parole four months ago, but his real crime was that he led a cult-like group that operated an elaborate drug and prostitution ring. They dig up Olivia's notes from ten years ago and find that sure enough he had been vocal about getting his revenge and had even seemed fixated on her, writing her numerous threatening letters throughout his years in prison. The timing fits. It's something.

The search of his van turns up a brown hair. Porter is able to pull strings and rush the hair through the FBI's lab. DNA says it's Olivia's. Nobody knows whether to be excited or distraught. The perp was not a rapist per se in his day, but ten years in prison can change anyone and they are all keenly aware of ex-cons' preferred method of revenge on female cops. It also bodes poorly for Elliot; if Reslow's interest is truly in her, there would be no reason to keep the only bit of protection she would have alive.

Reslow's parole officer, whom they clearly surprise when they show up at his stationhouse, admits he hasn't seen him in days, but insists the man has been following all the rules, that he's cleaned up his act since prison. Porter lifts the officer up by his collar and threatens bodily harm if it turns out Reslow has hurt Olivia under his watch. Cragen and Fin pull Porter off him. Porter does not apologize.

It takes another full day to track Reslow down. They haul him in and throw him in an interrogation room. They sweat him for twelve hours, until it becomes clear he won't talk. They decide to release him and have two plainclothesmen tail him.

The suspect immediately heads north across the TapanZee Bridge, and Cragen is hopeful this means Elliot and Olivia are still alive and being held somewhere outside the city.

Sure enough, the detail follows him to a condemned building that was a former high school on a rural road outside Poughkeepsie. They consider how violent Reslow used to be, his fondness for weapons and explosives, and how much more violent he must have grown during his years in prison. Based on the hotdog man's description, they are convinced he has at least one partner, whom they expect to be loyal. In his day, Reslow was known to be highly charismatic; his henchmen, many of them teenagers he recruited off the street, did whatever it took to get the deal done.

Porter calls the shots and in the span of two hours a rescue plan is formulated. The bomb squad, fully decked out in protective gear, is to enter the building and use a new form of potent tear gas that the FBI has developed, which will not react with any explosives present, but will work to extract the kidnappers from the building. The second the perps are outside and apprehended, an elite, highly-trained search-and-rescue team will enter the premises and look for Elliot and Olivia, who will likely be incapacitated from the gas. The goal is to avoid a Waco-like standoff, Porter explains, which, in the event that Reslow has managed to recruit more followers than they expect, would surely result in many more casualties.

Cragen calls George Huang to inquire about the safety of the gas, and Huang tacitly endorses it, but warns him to make sure that the plan is otherwise sound. Assuming Elliot and Olivia are locked up they will be defenseless against the gas and will likely lose consciousness. It will be imperative, then, to find them and bring them to fresh air within seven minutes, after which their oxygen levels will get dangerously low.

Cragen is decidedly unhappy after he hears this, because this is not at all the way Porter had described the gas. Porter retorts that the search-and-rescue team is trained specifically to expeditiously extract people from situations exactly such as these, that his detectives are in good hands.

An argument ensues between Cragen and Porter about the use of the gas. Porter doesn't appreciate being second-guessed by a local police captain. Cragen senses that Porter's more interested in credit for taking Reslow down than in his detectives' lives. Cragen doesn't normally lose his temper, but for once he understands how Elliot feels, dealing with men like him. It takes Fin to calmly remind his Captain that assaulting Porter now won't get anyone anywhere.

The FBI strongly backs the plan, Porter informs him, and he lets Cragen know in no uncertain terms that it is his way or the highway. In the end, Porter gets his way, because his reasoning and calculus are ultimately strong; Cragen cannot suggest a better way to rescue his detectives without further jeopardizing everyone's lives.

Just as everyone is mobilizing to leave, Munch bursts into Cragen's office. "Captain, we got a problem," he declares.

Cragen sighs. "What is it?"

"I found these in Olivia's drawer," John says, offering his palm to his Captain.

Cragen takes the pill bottle from John and reads off the label. "Pre-natal vitamins. Prescribed to Olivia Benson." He looks up in shock. "She's pregnant?"

"It would appear that way," Munch nods thoughtfully.

"They were prescribed on November 18th," Cragen says, incredulous. "It means she's at least – what? Three months along?"

"It would seem that way."

"Jesus." Cragen slumps in his chair, putting his face in his hands. "This isn't good."

"It shouldn't really matter, Captain," John says softly.

"We can't use the gas," Cragen moans into his hands, shaking his head wearily.

"But Porter said –"

"I don't care what Porter said!" he snaps. "It's too risky for her." He looks up. "Tell Porter we're aborting. Tell him to come talk to me if he has a problem with that. I'm getting One-PP on the phone; there's no way in hell the FBI is forcing me to risk the life of one of my best detectives." He takes a short breath. "Oh, and somebody get Olivia's obstetrician on the phone."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"I've been thinking of retiring," Elliot tells Olivia, on day eleven of their captivity.

He's sitting next to her on the floor, their backs against the wall.

"What?" she startles awake and coughs. She's been trying to downplay how rotten she feels and the fact that she can't seem to get ahead of the constant drowsiness. She wonders whether Elliot's query the other day about being sick didn't jinx her a little.

She processes his comment and is instantly upset. "Why?"

"I just… I don't think I can do this anymore, you know? I keep feeling like I'm pushing my luck. I've had all these near-misses and now this. If we get out of here, Liv, I think I really need to reassess my life."

"But…" She's at a loss. _What about me? _she wants to say. She keeps her mouth shut.

_You shouldn't talk. In a few months you'll have your own reassessing to do._

She tries to reason with him. "Elliot, it's not generally a good idea to make a major life decision in the middle of a crisis."

He snorts. "That's just it, Liv. When are we _not _in a crisis situation? My whole life is just one crisis after another."

"So what are you going to do, play golf?"

"No. It's just that, you know, it's been nearly two weeks, Liv. Do you realize that? This is not a normal way to live."

_No kidding, _she thinks. "Elliot, twenty years ago when you started this job you knew going in that this wasn't a normal way to live. And yet you lasted all these years. What changed?"

"Kathy took my children to Rochester, that's what changed," he states. "I guess it finally made me ask myself, like, _really _ask myself, what the hell I'm doing, you know?"

She is taken aback that he has such a ready answer.

"I know," she manages quietly. She does know.

"God, Liv, this is just… this is getting to me. I need something to… _happen_ already." His voice starts to rise, and she sees how badly he needs to let off steam. They've been cooped up in this room for eleven days straight. "What the_ fuck _do they want with us!?" he bursts out, his angry, booming voice echoing off the four gray walls.

"I don't know," she answers, knowing full well his question was rhetorical.

He calms somewhat. "Do you think…" he starts.

"What?"

"Do you think it's weird we got kidnapped right as we were about to break a major child pornography ring?"

"You think it's connected?" she asks.

"It has to be."

"But nobody knew we had that lead."

"People at Johanson's job knew we came to talk to her," he points out. "Maybe someone there was involved."

"But it happened twenty minutes after we left. How could that –"

She doesn't get to finish her thought, because the steel door opens and the younger one is suddenly inside their cell, standing over them.

Elliot feels Olivia shrink back a little, nudging herself closer to him against the wall. Instinctively, he reaches over to her and cups her bicep in comfort.

"Let's go!" the kidnapper barks at her, grabbing her by the arm and forcefully hoisting her up.

Elliot jumps to his feet. "Wait! Where are you taking her?"

"None of your concern," the kidnapper snaps.

Olivia looks terrified. She looks to Elliot, pleading with her eyes.

But there's nothing he can do; the kidnapper has her own gun pointed at her head.

And off they go, leaving Elliot behind in the chilly cell.


	5. Chapter 5

Olivia is gone for about an hour, to the best of Elliot's estimates; he's not wearing a watch.

It's the longest, most grueling hour of his life as he sits on the concrete floor, his forehead pressed to his knees, praying the hardest he's ever prayed that they won't hurt her.

He knows that they will. Because why else would they take her, and not him?

He's grateful he's not being forced to watch, because he doesn't think he could handle seeing it. And he's guilty, too, that he feels this way. Because he believes that whatever additional humiliation she would suffer as a result of knowing he'd watched would be outweighed by the moral support he could lend her during such a terrible experience.

When the steel door finally opens again, she's shoved back into the room and the door is slammed closed behind her.

Immediately, he's at her side. "Are you okay?"

It's a rather stupid question, he realizes, because of course she's not okay.

"I'm fine," she responds, her voice shaky. She doesn't look at him and instead heads straight for the mattress and lies down on her side, curling into herself.

He doesn't know what to say. Until she admits it's happened, he's not about to start comforting her, telling her all the things he tells other victims – that it'll be okay, that it wasn't her fault.

He desperately wants to go sit with her on the bed, but he doesn't want to freak her out; if she'd wanted to be near him, she wouldn't have chosen the farthest possible spot away from him in the room.

He studies her carefully. Her hair is sopping wet and she's shivering a little. He notices she's also wearing a different shirt, an oversized sweatshirt that looks like it was picked up from a souvenir shop. But otherwise, she actually looks okay. Her eyes aren't puffy, like they might be if she had been crying, and there are no noticeable bruises on her arms, as he would expect if she'd been held down.

These things give him little comfort, however, because a gun to one's head can be awfully persuasive.

x-x-x-x-x-x

She's feeling increasingly achy and worn and so she stays on the mattress, not wanting to move a muscle. She sees Elliot eyeing her from across the room and abruptly realizes what he's thinking. "They didn't rape me," she tells him.

Never in his life has he felt such a gush of relief. "Okay," he manages, nearly choking with emotion. He goes to the bed and sits down on the mattress next to her. "So, uh, what… what did they do then?"

"Nothing," she answers. "They gave me a real meal – as in, chicken and mashed potatoes and salad and dessert – I think they must've gotten takeout from a restaurant somewhere – and then they let me take a real shower and gave me this change of clothes."

"Really?" he asks. _And did they watch you take that shower?_

She reads his mind. "And to answer your question, they gave me privacy in the shower. But yeah, I was just as surprised by the whole thing. I was honestly expecting… " She stops, closes her mouth, and drops her gaze to the mattress.

He nods, not needing to say it aloud. "I know."

He doesn't tell her that this development is nearly as disturbing to him as would be the news that she had been assaulted. After all, why her and not him? He assumes there's a reason they want her clean and fresh and well-fed. Rapists have their own idiosyncrasies when it comes to sex, just like everybody else.

But he's not about to voice this thought. His partner is smart; she doesn't need him to remind her of the sort of danger she's in. And if, for whatever reason, she has convinced herself such a prospect is no longer likely, who is he to take such peace of mind away from her now?

He looks down at her, still lying on her side. She's trembling a little, and he lays a palm on her shoulder, as if to provide comfort.

But really he just wants to touch her, to reassure himself she's really back with him, unharmed.

Because he knows that next time this happens she might not be so lucky.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The news that Olivia is pregnant has rattled them all, but Porter seems especially affected, and Cragen is now suspicious that he is the father. He is upset by this on a number of levels, but in the ways that matter at the moment, he couldn't be more thankful: this will ensure Porter's commitment to getting her out safely. Unlike at the airport, when he calculated that being a hero was more important than the risks to her life. Nearly three months later, Cragen still seethes when he remembers that day.

It takes several days for them to come up with a new plan.

The revised plan involves the same group of people, but this time they will use expensive, infrared technology – courtesy once again of the FBI – to determine where in the high school building Olivia and Elliot are being held. Then they will surround the place and wait for the kidnappers to congregate in a different part of the building, where they will release a less potent gas, which will be kept as localized as possible.

x-x-x-x-x-x

**Twelve Weeks **

"I think we're in a prison," Olivia tells him from her spot next to him on the floor, after having returned from her third full-course meal and shower in as many days. They both agree it's bizarre that the kidnappers are doing this for her, but Elliot's glad she's getting more than Snickers, even though his own stomach growls every time she describes her feast. She's tried to sneak him a little food, but the kidnappers watch her every move and he has made her swear on his children's lives that she will not risk her life just to get him food.

"No kidding," he replies.

"No, I mean, literally. When they took me upstairs this time, I was in some sort of mess hall. One of the chairs had a faded logo on it. The print looked like it formed the word _Corrections. _I think this place is a penitentiary that's not in use."

"Really?" he scratches his head, mulling this over. "So what does this mean?"

"I honestly don't know," she says. "The kidnappers don't seem…. I don't know, they don't seem very professional, you know? And yet, they're obviously following a specific plan, a specific script."

"I know. Not a very friendly pair either, are they? I suppose that's a good thing."

"I guess we don't have to worry about developing Stockholm Syndrome," she jokes.

"Yeah… " he lets his voice trail off. They both know what this means. They have seen both kidnappers' faces. Unless the men make it clear they're seeking ransom or otherwise share their motives, the most likely scenario is that they intend to eventually kill Elliot and Olivia. Which begs the question: what are they waiting for?

She swallows nervously, reading his mind. She reaches for his hand, and pulls it on to her lap, careful to avoid the tiny bump. For the last three days, ever since they started taking her away, she and Elliot have been more physically demonstrative with each other. She is smart enough to know that there is something very off about the meals and good treatment and that every day they take her away could be the day they finally do something to her that will destroy her. And so she and Elliot consider it a blessing each time she is returned, unharmed, and she sees that he is still there, unharmed as well. Professional ethics have gone out the window; they're all the other has right now during this hellish situation.

He squeezes her hand and covers it with his other one. "At least we're still in the country," he volunteers. He's trying to lighten the tension that has just permeated the room by focusing on something inconsequential.

Because thus far neither of them has had the courage to address out loud what both of them know in their guts: they're not getting out of here alive. Elliot can't contemplate never seeing his children again, never again seeing his little son. Olivia can't cope with the idea that her baby is going to die right here with her. And so they both do the only thing they know how to do: they flat-out deny the reality.

She gives him a funny look.

"_Corrections," _he clarifies. "It's English. So we're not in Mexico or something."

"I could've told you that when it started snowing," she laughs, pointing up at the window, which is caked in snowflakes.

"True," he concedes, feeling like an idiot. "I guess it could be Canada, though."

"I doubt we're in Canada, Elliot."

"Why?"

"I don't think we were out long enough to get up to the border. My guess is we're upstate somewhere."

"Makes sense," he mumbles, as he further mulls the new information. He's exceptionally grateful the Silent Pair hasn't hurt Olivia, but he's also extremely troubled. If she's right and they are, in fact, in a prison, this changes his entire conception of his captors. Kidnappers with the wherewithal to dump them in a government facility are no amateurs. They have got to have done their homework and would know that the NYPD won't pay out ransom and that neither of them has family who would shell out a dime for them.

And so if they don't want money, and they aren't interested in assaulting Olivia, what in the world do they want?


	6. Chapter 6

On the fourteenth day of their captivity, nobody shows up to take Olivia away. Nor do the two captives even receive their candy bar ration.

Elliot and Olivia are both perplexed and discuss what this means. Olivia believes the kidnappers are trying to mess with them. Elliot doesn't know what to think. He doesn't tell her this, but he's utterly relieved. He would rather starve than spend another hour worrying she's spending that hour being assaulted.

But then twenty-four more hours go by and they've still seen nothing of their captors.

Elliot knows it's been this long because this time he's paid attention to the angle of the sunrays that manage to penetrate the small window up near the ceiling.

And so they've now gone thirty-six hours without a bite of food. Thankfully there's still the faucet, so they won't die of dehydration, but it doesn't bode well.

Elliot is hungry, but he knows he can manage without food; he's an ex-marine and he's hardy that way. But Olivia is another story. Normally this development would not be so worrisome, as he knows his partner is also tough, but there's now no denying that she's sick.

She's clearly got a fever and she's been hacking out a lung since last night.

He feels helpless.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The team has been understandably deflated ever since the high school turned up nothing. Well, not nothing per se; Duchess County is now minus about two thousand kilos of heroin, thanks to the so-called rescue operation.

Cragen couldn't care less about this. He is shocked at their miscalculation. All the pieces fit, he keeps thinking. How could all the evidence have pointed to this one place, only for a forensics sweep of the building to find no evidence whatsoever that Elliot and Olivia ever stepped foot inside?

Porter, meanwhile, has been utterly defensive of his team's work since the raid, even as he receives accolades from his superiors for such a monumental drug bust. He has redoubled his efforts to find Olivia, wanting, Cragen believes, to save face with the lowly NYPD.

It's just as well, Cragen figures, because yesterday Porter was off somewhere following up on a lead personally, which meant he was out of everyone's hair for the day. He came back, confident he was onto something, and today he's sequestered himself away in a conference room, reviewing the details and talking to his team.

Cragen is thankful for small favors.

x-x-x-x-x-x

It's been another half-day without food and Olivia's not doing well. Her fever doesn't appear to be breaking and it's obvious she's achy and tired. Of course, she's denying it all vociferously.

As Elliot looks across the room at her huddled form on the bed, he's upset they didn't attempt an escape sooner. Now he wonders if she'd be able to make it.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Sixty hours after they last saw their captors, Elliot is convinced that they've been abandoned. On the one hand he's thrilled because he no longer has to go through agonizing hours wondering what's happening to Olivia every time they take her away. But he's extremely worried, now, for a different reason: her condition has deteriorated markedly since last night, and she now appears to have a full-blown flu.

Neither of them has eaten anything in two and a half days and it's clear to him that Olivia is feeling weak. She's curled up on the mattress in the fetal position, shivering and shaking, and her face is flushed with fever. She's coughing and coughing. He's been trying to coax her to the faucet to drink some water – he's got no container in which to bring it to her – but she refuses to budge from the mattress. He's not sure she'd keep it down anyway.

He sits down next to her on the mattress and feels her forehead. He grimaces at how hot her skin is.

She reads his mind. "I-I-I'm okay," she manages, but the words are betrayed by the chattering of her teeth. She can't seem to stop shaking.

He wishes there was something he could do for her. It's torture, feeling this helpless. He lies down on the mattress behind her, spooning her, and puts his arm around her waist, trying to provide a cocoon of warmth.

Though they've slept side-by-side on the tiny cot together each night, it's the first time he's lain with her like this, so intimately close. She loves having him this close and the gush of heat she feels from his body is a godsend, but instantly she's worried he's going to notice her slightly distended abdomen. She has spent her time in captivity being paranoid about this, forcing herself not to freeze every time his eyes wander to a place other than her face. She has come to figure out, through this series of false alarms, that his eyes simply tend to wander her body. She wonders if this has always been the case or if it's been going on since they had sex, or if it's a function of their current predicament.

Presently she does her best to subtly nudge his arm higher, so that he's clutching her just below her breasts. She knows that the worst possible way for him to find out about her pregnancy would be by accident like this.

"Look, there's something I have to tell you," he says huskily from behind her, holding her close.

"Me too," she says impulsively, her voice a hoarse whisper. _Enough is enough, _she thinks.

He's surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. But you first."

"Okay." He takes a deep breath and pulls her closer against him. The heat radiates off her. "I'm in love with you."

She inhales sharply and tries to move her neck to look back at him. But she's aching all over and the effort is too much for her. "Oh… oh, Elliot… I don't… I didn't expect…"

"I just had to tell you. Having your life threatened, it makes you realize what's important."

"Oh, don't say that. Come on, your life is threatened every other week," she teases, trying to deflect. When he's silent and she sees how serious he is, she adds, "We're gonna get out of here. We have to."

He lays a palm on her temple. "I know. I know we will. But I… I'm worried about you, Liv."

"Elliot, I'll be okay. I'm a fighter."

"You're sick."

She's touched by his concern; it's not like he knows she's also carrying what might be his child. "It's just a flu. I'll be fine." The truth is, she's never felt this physically weak, this drained, this achy. It wouldn't be such a big deal if she weren't pregnant, but she's profoundly worried about the baby. She feels helpless and guilty and scared not knowing how such illness and starvation are affecting her child.

"We're locked up in a basement with no food and no medicine," he reminds her.

His words cause tears to well up in her eyes. She has learned through a series of close calls that her hormones have a tendency to wreak havoc on her emotions and that if she dwells too deeply on the danger she's in, she's liable to spontaneously start to cry. She doesn't want to upset Elliot with such a display and so she forces herself through sheer will power to remain stoic. "You don't know that they're not coming back," she says.

"I can't just sit here and let us starve."

She sees where he's going with this. "You want to try climbing the bed?" she asks, a little horrified by the prospect.

He hesitates. "Ordinarily, with you being this sick, I'd say no way. But I… don't think we should risk going another day without food. I think we should try for it."

She processes his argument. The idea of moving from this bed is unthinkable at the moment; she's not sure she could even stand up without keeling over from dizziness. But she knows he's right. It's the only way. "Okay," she says hesitantly.

"But Liv, we might have to trek for a bit. I have to know you can make it."

"They'll track our footprints in the snow," she points out, then loses herself in a fit of coughs.

He frowns. _That's the least of our worries, _he thinks, as he waits for her to catch her breath. "We'll have to take that chance." He pauses and pulls her closer, his chin in her hair. "How're you feeling?"

It's a throwaway question because the answer is rather obvious, but he asks anyway, wanting to hear her reassure him, even if her answer is a boldfaced lie.

Predictably, she replies, "I'm okay, Elliot. I can do this."

He props himself up on an elbow and leans over her from behind, studying her. He slides his palm across her forehead and winces. "Jesus, you're really burning up."

She covers his hand with hers, then pries it away from her forehead. "I'm okay."

"You're shivering," he protests. He pulls her closer so that her back is flush against his chest. He regrets waiting this long to tell her how he's felt for years. He can't believe he's gone this long without holding her.

"Like you said, we don't have much of a choice."

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" he suddenly thinks to ask.

"It's okay… it was nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"All right…" he says skeptically.

"Oh, but Elliot?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."

_And I hope to God this baby is yours._


	7. Chapter 7

She can't believe it, but his plan actually works. Given her diminished physical capacity, he doesn't let her help him lift the bed. She offers to help, of course, knowing full well he won't let her. He gets the bed up against the wall, leaning it at an angle as she watches him from the floor, where she's slumped against the wall.

She watches him climb, dreading the moment when she'll have to get up and follow him. He's careful not to put all his weight on any one wooden slat at once, but ultimately he's able to use the bed as a ladder and climb right up and reach the window. It takes him several tries to break the window. He carefully clears the glass away and then climbs back down into the room.

"What're you doing?" she asks.

"You climb first," he tells her. "I want to be behind you, in case something happens."

"Elliot, I'm fine," she insists, lying through her chattering teeth. She's grateful he plans to spot her; she's feeling faint from the lack of food.

He pulls off his hoodie and hands it to her. "Put this on," he orders.

"Elliot, now you're in a t-shirt. And anyway, I've already got a sweatshirt and I'm the one with a fever."

"Liv, don't argue," he says sternly. "I'll be fine."

"Elliot –"

"_This _is how we're doing it," he growls, leaving no room for debate.

She nods and pulls the hoodie over her head and basks in his lingering scent and body heat. She's now wearing two oversized sweatshirts. At least her little bulge is completely hidden, she thinks.

He helps her stand and then takes her by the waist and starts to lead her backwards, to the opposite side of the room. "All right, since you're up, come to the sink and get some water in you first."

"Elliot –"

"Liv, don't play games," he warns. "You've got a high fever and we're about to be outside for God-knows how long so the least we're going to do is get some fluids in you."

"El, I'm not –"

"Yes and before you tell me you're not a child, which I am very aware of," he interrupts, "as long as you're at, oh, I'd say, one-oh-two, you're doing what I say."

Without further ado, he promptly switches on the faucet and monitors her as she scoops several mouthfuls with her hands before he's satisfied.

"All right, are we ready?" he asks.

"Yes," she answers, doing her best to keep her voice from quivering. The water felt good going down, but she's slightly nauseous now from it. All she wants to do is curl up on her side in a warm, clean bed, under the influence of Tylenol and Nyquil. Instead, she's about to embark on an outdoor trek in thirty degree weather on an empty stomach with a growing fetus inside her, and sporting a very serious flu.

He walks her back to the wall, where the vertical bed is waiting for them, like a very daunting obstacle course. Olivia suppresses an involuntary shiver. The broken window is already causing the cold to seep inside the room; it's obviously windy outside.

"Okay, look. I'm gonna be behind you the whole time, okay?" he instructs. "Once you get up there, you're going to have to hoist yourself out. The ground's more or less level with the window, okay, so you just need to manage to get your body out and then just lie on the ground and wait for me, okay?"

"Okay," she replies nervously.

"You can do this," he adds encouragingly, as he catches her wary expression. She is very frail-looking, he thinks.

She starts to climb the bed. Elliot made it look easier than it is; for her, it's a slow, arduous process, as she takes great pains to be careful. She's keenly aware that all it would take is one little slip and she could lose the baby. As she reaches the halfway point, she is suddenly overcome by dizziness. Whether it's from hunger or from illness, she doesn't know.

"You okay?" Elliot calls from beneath her.

She expends all her energy to close her eyes and regain her sense of balance.

"Liv?" he repeats, worriedly.

"O-okay," she calls, her voice quivering. "Just… d-dizzy."

"All right," he says coaxingly, "it's okay, I'm right behind you. I got you. Just take it one step at a time. You'll be fine."

She manages to squeeze herself through the window, crawling as best she can on her side. She lies on the frozen ground, panting and curling into herself. The effort was a lot harder than she'd anticipated and she's dizzy and exhausted. She looks around and sees that she's on an empty, barren field that seems to circumnavigate the perimeter of the prison. Beyond the field, in front of her, is a wooded area, which is separated from the field by a barbed wire fence. They are lucky: the fence is open in numerous spots; clearly her hypothesis was correct that the facility is not in use.

Elliot gets himself out and they both lie on their sides on the ground for several seconds, facing each other. Finally, he gets up on his knees and takes in their surroundings.

He thinks he detects the din of traffic in the direction of the forest ahead. "Shh…" he says, "Listen. You hear that?"

She doesn't, but she nods anyway from her position on the ground.

"Stay here," he tells her. "I'm gonna check the front side." He jogs several hundred feet to the far side of the prison, where he squints ahead of himself to the front entrance, which is separated from the main road by a giant gate-like structure. Beyond the gate, through its bars, Elliot can make out a small, one-lane road, which bisects another forest and stretches on into the horizon.

He returns to where she's lying.

"Looks like forest totally surrounds this place. The road leading up to here looks completely deserted." He points in front of them, to the forest that borders the back side of the prison. "Our best bet is to cross those woods. It sounds like there might be a freeway and hopefully some civilization on the other side."

"Okay," she says shakily. She lies on the frozen earth, not moving a muscle. She's happy to have him come up with the plan, take the lead. She trusts him fully; she'll go along with whatever he thinks is best. She's just so tired.

"Can you make it?" he asks, looking down at her warily.

"Like you said, we don't have a choice," she rasps.

She looks like she's barely hanging on and he reconsiders their options, one of which is to leave her here while he finds help. But he knows she wouldn't agree to it, and he doesn't want to do anything against her will. Besides, he's worried enough about her physical condition that he doesn't think he could tolerate not knowing how she's doing. Also, although he's confident the kidnappers are gone, he's not necessarily prepared to swear to it on her life.

And so he pulls her up, helping her to her feet, holding her securely around her upper waist. She slumps into him a little, but stays standing.

"Lean into me," he tells her. "We'll go slowly, okay?"

"O-okay."

And they head towards the forest.

x-x-x-x-x-x

On day seventeen, just as Cragen begins to fantasize for the fourth time in three days about how lovely it would be to have a shot of vodka, Fin bursts into his office in a huff. "Captain, two bodies were found in a ditch off Route 102, near Ridgewood. Shot to death. "

Cragen peers up at Fin, his face in his hands. "Ridgewood?" he inquires wearily.

"It's about thirty miles west of Albany. Its only claim to fame is that it was home to a federal penitentiary that was closed in 1997."

"And you're telling me this why?"

"Because the gun used to kill them was Olivia's."

Cragen's eyes widen. "Roger that. Get your coat on."

x-x-x-x-x-x

They've been walking for forty minutes when Olivia abruptly comes to a halt. "E-Elliot… I can't… we have to stop." She bends over and starts to cough.

He holds her up as she coughs, each hack sending tremors through her body.

As he holds her, fatigue momentarily takes over and he lets his eyes drift closed for several seconds. But his mind is not relaxed; in his head, he keeps reviewing their escape, regretting it and justifying it to himself at the same time.

When he reopens his eyes, everything has changed.

Particles of snow in front of Olivia are red.

She is coughing up blood.

"Okay," he tries to soothe, rubbing her back. But inside, he's panicked. She needs medical attention, more urgently than he anticipated. To make matters worse, it's starting to get dark outside. "It's okay…" he repeats, his heart beating furiously.

Her knees start to buckle and he catches her as she descends to the ground. He kneels next to her and she curls against him, trembling and shivering.

"This was a mistake," he moans, more to himself, as he pulls her close. What was he thinking? His partner is sick and she hasn't eaten in nearly three days and it's thirty degrees outside. They should have waited to be found.

Or, he should have left her in the cell and found help on his own.

But he didn't want to leave her alone. He was sure the kidnappers were gone, but he wasn't… _completely _sure. And if they came back, and she was alone….

He knows, in his heart, that it was the right decision to have her escape with him.

"We have to keep going," he tells her helplessly after several minutes. He's worried that they won't make it to the freeway before dark. He can't contemplate being in these freezing woods at night with a sick partner.

"I can't," she whimpers.

He's horrified by how weak she sounds. "We have to, Liv. Come on, I know you're strong enough."

She nods against him, too tired to vocally acquiesce.

He gently hoists her to her feet, and they keep walking.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Fin is driving like a bandit, with Cragen in the passenger seat and Munch in the back. They are heading to the prison, the only civilization within twenty miles of where the bodies were found and where the local sheriff claims there are days-old tire tracks that shouldn't be there.

"When does the M.E. think they were killed?" Cragen asks.

"Sometime Tuesday morning," Munch replies. "If Elliot or Olivia shot them and escaped, we would've heard from them by now."

"And she wouldn't have lost her weapon," Fin adds logically.

"Which means," Cragen says morosely, "if somebody _else _killed them and the dead guys are who we think they are and had them locked up this whole time, then Olivia's potentially been without food for…"

"Nearly three days." Munch finishes.

Silence permeates the car.

Fin accelerates.

x-x-x-x-x-x

It's eleven o'clock at night when they arrive at the penitentiary. According to Porter, the facility has not been in use since 1997, when it was closed in response to the precipitous decline in crime across the country during that time.

Sensing, Cragen suspects, that he was persona non grata, Porter has offered to man the phones from the FBI branch office in New York and then drive upstate later.

A local agent named Fredrickson meets them at the prison when they arrive. He is armed with keys and a security pass and is adamant nobody could have possibly gotten in, let alone hidden two people there for two weeks.

It takes fifteen minutes to run through the upper floors of the prison. It is clear Elliot and Olivia are not here and Cragen feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. They decide to search the lower floor, which houses the solitary confinement units as well as an electrical generator and several storage rooms.

In one of the hallways, Munch notices dry mud in the form of footprints leading to a locked room at the end of the corridor. Without waiting for Fredrickson, Cragen shoots his gun at the lock, and they all stumble into the room.

"They're not here," Munch declares, stating the obvious.

"The place is abandoned," Fin pipes up.

"Are we sure this is where they were being held?" Cragen asks.

"I think it's rather obvious, Captain," Munch says, pointing at the bed that is vertical with the wall and the small pile of broken glass on the floor. "They escaped."

"The town's twenty miles away," Fin points out.

"Which means," Cragen says, his voice gravelly, "we've got a pregnant woman out in the wilderness in the dark with no food in her system in thirty degree weather."

"Come on," Munch says pragmatically. "There's some snow on the ground. They must've left footprints."

x-x-x-x-x-x

It's past midnight as the team follows the footprints into the woods. The ground is only lightly dusted with snow and in some places they have to squint with their flashlights to identify the markings. Twice they take a wrong turn and have to retrace their steps. As it becomes obvious that more manpower is needed, the canine unit is called in, as are search-and-rescue helicopters. But Cragen refuses to stop searching while they wait and so for the time being, it's a slow, tedious trek. They call out to Elliot and Olivia repeatedly, but there's no answer.

An hour later several search teams are spread out across the woods, including two blood hounds, of which one is part of Cragen and his team's party. The forest is only a mile thick, but it is extremely dense and lines the interstate for dozens of miles. At this time of night the highway is quiet and Elliot and Olivia easily could have lost their sense of direction without the din of traffic to guide them. The footprints were long ago lost as the earth grew more and more frozen and less white. The search teams are visibly discouraged and Fredrickson has begun to hint that they should quit for the night and regroup in the morning. Cragen has made it clear he has no intention of abandoning the search until his detectives are found.

And so they plod on.

x-x-x-x-x-x

At nearly two o'clock in the morning, one of the dogs starts to bark and they follow its lead.

"Oh my God!" Cragen exclaims, as he and his men stumble upon a body. He shines his flashlight down and gasps as he realizes that the mass is in fact two bodies huddled together on their sides under a tree: Elliot and Olivia. The only sign of life is the slight spasming of Elliot's biceps; he is shivering uncontrollably. Cragen is shocked to see he is only in a t-shirt.

Cragen peers more closely at the pair and sees that Elliot is cradling Olivia, enveloping her nearly completely against his body. It is obvious he is trying to shield her from the elements. Cragen aims his flashlight at Olivia and his heart sinks in his throat. She is unconscious, and there is blood around her mouth.

Suddenly there is movement and Cragen sees that Elliot is awake.

Elliot slowly looks up at them, his neck turning with effort, but he is otherwise unfazed by his boss's sudden appearance and his apparent rescue. There are tears in his eyes. "Sh-she collapsed about an hour ago," he stammers. "Sh-she started coughing up blood and I-I don't… oh, Captain… she was sick, but I insisted we try to make a run for it anyway and I… oh God, if I would've realized how sick she is… It just got so bad so fast… I forced her to keep walking…"

Cragen crouches in front of his detectives and feels Olivia's neck for a pulse. He breathes a sigh of relief as he feels a weak beat. He shines his flashlight over her body. There's no other blood; it doesn't look like she's miscarried and he believes it's the first thing Elliot would have mentioned had it obviously happened, here or in prior days.

But the heat radiates off her skin and Cragen frowns; the flu is dangerous enough under normal conditions but she is pregnant and has been starved and frozen. And these are just the things he knows about. He has no idea in what other ways and how severely she's been abused.

"We've got medics back at the prison," he tells Elliot. "Can't bring an ambulance into the woods, but we'll radio and have them wait at the edge." He looks up at Fin. "Are you able to carry her back?"

"No problem, Cap," Fin nods confidently.

"I-I can do it," Elliot protests weakly.

Cragen almost laughs. "Elliot, you've been without food for days," he says sympathetically. "You're in no condition."

Elliot doesn't question how Cragen knows this. He slowly gets to his feet. "Sh-she's my partner," he stutters, unable to control his shivering.

One of the men in their party promptly hands Elliot a blanket, which he gratefully wraps around his shoulders.

"It's okay, man," Fin lays a palm on his shoulder. "I got her. You just try to warm up, okay?"

Fin crouches down in front of Olivia and gently turns her onto her back. Then he slides one arm each beneath her shoulders and her knees and easily lifts her into his arms.

She doesn't stir.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Fin carries Olivia back to the prison. Elliot walks by their side huddled in the blanket, his eyes never leaving her. She doesn't awaken throughout the trek and they take turns periodically checking that she's still breathing. When they arrive at the waiting ambulance, Elliot begins to describe her condition to the medics while they load her in.

"She'll be okay, Elliot," Cragen tells him with a confidence he doesn't necessarily feel, as they take a seat on either side of her inside the back of the ambulance. "And so will the baby," he adds reassuringly.

Elliot nods, glancing at her unconscious form. "I know," he says, taking her hand in his. He blinks and looks at his boss. "Wait, what?"

"She's gonna be okay," Cragen repeats.

"No, I mean, you said… you said _baby. _She- she's pregnant?" he asks incredulously.

Cragen frowns. "You didn't know?"

"Sh-she… _really?" _he exclaims, with genuine shock. His eyes travel from Cragen to Olivia and back to Cragen again.

Cragen takes Elliot's hand and guides it to her abdomen, where a small, albeit distinctive bump is present. He chuckles lightly. "You didn't notice this?"

Elliot blushes fiercely. "No." He swallows. "Sh-she… she was so sick, I just thought…" His eyes widen in horror as the full implications of this piece of news dawn on him. "Oh God, she's been so sick and I made her walk in the freezing cold and if I would've realized, I would never –"

"Elliot." Cragen stops him. "It's not your fault. She didn't tell you. And you probably saved her life."

Elliot nods. "H-how how far along is she?"

"According to her doctor, about twelve weeks."

Elliot's eyes travel to the ceiling and he's silent for several moments; it's obvious to Cragen he's doing some math in his head.

And then Elliot's eyes widen and his face goes utterly white. He looks his boss straight in the eye. "It's mine."

Cragen digests this declaration, somewhat taken aback, but has the presence of mind to keep his expression neutral. Now is not the time.


	8. Chapter 8

It takes everything Cragen has to get Elliot to agree to be checked out by a doctor. He's been starved for three days and malnourished for over two weeks and outside in freezing weather for hours in only a t-shirt.

Predictably, Elliot protests vociferously. He's been taking care of Olivia for hours, making sure she's stayed alive, and the news that she is pregnant has only compounded his sense of responsibility for her as well as his guilt that he forced her to submit to his escape plan. Cragen knows all this, which is why he's not hard on him when he insists on a merely perfunctory examination so that he can be with Olivia.

Olivia, meanwhile, has regained consciousness but she's groggy and they've pumped her with so many drugs she keeps going in and out. The doctors have confirmed she didn't lose the baby and that she wasn't assaulted – physically, at least – but the pneumonia is advanced and they've had to put her on oxygen. She's gravely ill.

Elliot's been completely useless about giving them any information about the kidnapping. He never saw the rest of the facility, and spent their entire time in captivity in the room in the basement. Also, he can't understand why they want to pester him about the kidnapping when all he believes matters now is how Olivia and his baby are doing.

x-x-x-x-x-x

"Captain?" Olivia opens her eyes, but they're heavy and the light bothers her. She squints up at him for a second, then closes her eyes again.

"I'm right here," he reassures her. "And Elliot just went to get some coffee. He should be back any minute."

"Okay."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm… all right. Captain, the baby?" she asks hoarsely.

She was already told several hours ago when she woke up the first time, that the baby is okay. But that wakefulness only lasted a minute before she started coughing and they had to give her oxygen.

Cragen frowns. He knows it's just grogginess, that this is to be expected from her, but it's jolting nonetheless to see her so out of it. "The baby is fine, Olivia. It's you we've all been worried about."

"What… what happened to me?" she asks dazedly.

"You have pneumonia. Doctors say it probably started as a flu, but since you're pregnant and were starved, your immune system was weakened and you were more susceptible to complications." He grasps her wrist. "But you're gonna be fine, okay?"

"Did you figure out… who… why they took us?"

"Not yet." He squeezes her wrist in comfort. "But we think your kidnappers are dead, okay? We think they were killed a few days before you were found. At some point, when you're feeling up to it, we'll show you their photos and you can confirm that it's them."

She nods faintly. "Makes sense."

"What does?"

"Mmm…" she mumbles, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Olivia?" he prompts, and taps her wrist.

She seems to startle awake. "What?"

"What makes sense?"

"What?"

"That your kidnappers are dead," he answers patiently. "You said it makes sense."

"Why… why they stopped coming, to give me food." She closes her eyes again.

He wants to let her rest, but his ears have perked up at her statement. "Wait, to give _you _food? Were you separated from Elliot during your captivity?" He frowns, not liking where this is going. This was not at all his understanding of the circumstances under which they were held.

She nods weakly, her eyes still shuttered. "We didn't… didn't understand why. All of a sudden they started taking me out of the room and feeding me well. But not Elliot."

"And they didn't…" The inflection in his voice leaves the question hanging. He doesn't know how to ask her.

Even in her dazed state, she understands what he's asking. "No, they didn't. They never touched me, Captain."

He nods gratefully. Elliot reported the same; it was, in fact, the only information he divulged. But Cragen knows that if Olivia was alone with the kidnappers, there's no real way for Elliot to have known for sure. And so it's good to hear it from her. "Can you tell me more?"

"The first few days they were only feeding us candy bars. And then one day out of nowhere they took me upstairs and gave me this meal."

"What kind of meal?"

"Full course. It looked like it came from some restaurant. Then they let me take a shower. They did this three days in a row before they stopped coming."

"That's because they were dead," he nods thoughtfully. "Did they say anything to you? Tell you why they were doing this?"

"No. I asked at one point, but they ignored me. They had my gun pointed at me the whole time so when I saw that they weren't so talkative…. I shut up too."

"It was your gun? You're sure?"

"Yes."

He lets a moment pass. "Did they know you were pregnant?"

She shakes her head. "I don't see how. Nobody knew." She pauses, and Cragen catches the look of guilt that passes over her features. "Not even Elliot."

He nods kindly, waits a beat. "Olivia, can I ask who the father is?"

She draws in a sharp breath and looks down at the bed cover, avoiding his eyes. "I, uh…" she starts.

"You're not sure, are you?" he says softly.

She blushes fiercely.

He feels terrible. Whatever rules she might have broken with her partner, it was not his intention to embarrass her. "It's okay," he assures her, "it's none of my business anyway."

"Captain, please don't tell –"

"I won't say a word," he promises.

Elliot comes in with coffee just then, and is elated to see she's awake.

Cragen excuses himself to leave them alone. He decides to head back to the sheriff's station, where his squad has set up a command center.

Something about Olivia's story troubles him.

He just can't yet put his finger on what.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Elliot takes a seat by Olivia's bedside, his hand gently clutching her wrist. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right," she answers. "Elliot, I, uh, I have something to… I should've told you, I… I –"

"I know, Liv. And it's okay."

"You do?" Porter must be hanging around, she thinks. "You're not upset?"

He sighs. "I'm surprised, I guess. That you didn't tell me. But no, I'm not upset. I'm just glad you're okay. And that the baby is too."

"I was so scared to tell you. I thought you would be upset."

He leans over and looks into her eyes. "Honey, I love you so much and this is our _baby_. How could you think I would be upset?"

She closes her eyes, and nods faintly at her own misunderstanding of his understanding. She aches all over and wishes she could be in her own bed.

And that she doesn't have to keep living with fifty percent certainty.

x-x-x-x-x-x

In spite of his vehement protests, a stern nurse shoos Elliot out of Olivia's room because she needs to rest. Elliot is left roaming the halls, biding his time until the next shift, when he intends to slip back into her room and spend the night there. He has no intention of leaving her.

He is idly pacing the hallway when he spies a familiar face and frowns.

"What the hell are you doing here, Porter?" Elliot demands.

"Hey, man!" Porter protests, hands raised defensively in the air. "I'm just here to see how she's doing. No crime against that."

"You've got some nerve," Elliot growls.

"Hey, I care about her too!"

"Like hell you do! You nearly got her killed that day at JFK and then you betrayed her. I don't call that _caring _where I come from."

"Hey! I was only doing my job. And anyway, she and I got past that."

Elliot subtly moves in front of the door to Olivia's room, blocking it with his body. "Yeah, well, I don't think she'll be crushed if she doesn't see you today."

Porter sighs. "Look, Stabler, she's carrying my baby. I think I have a right to be here."

Elliot blinks, takes a moment to replay Porter's words in his head. Yes. The man said what he thought he said. He narrows his eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm the father," he states matter-of-factly. A smirk forms on his face. "What, she didn't tell you?"

Elliot's eyes become slits. "Are you saying… are you saying you _fucked_ my partner?"

"Is that some sort of crime?" Porter laughs. "Besides, I wouldn't call it fu–"

"You_ bastard," _Elliot snarls.

And then he's on top of Porter and all he can see is red.


	9. Chapter 9

Elliot's black eye is the first thing Olivia processes as she awakens. "What happened?" she demands.

"Nothing," he replies swiftly. "It's not important. How're you feeling?"

She ignores the question. "You beat Porter up, didn't you?"

"The douche bag was hanging out here. He has no business being around you after what he did to you that day at the airport."

In her head, she's relieved: _he doesn't know_.

"He's not a bad guy, El."

"He betrayed you. Nearly got you killed."

She's silent.

He clears his throat. "Liv, I uh, I gotta ask you… you slept with him? Tell me he's lying, Liv."

She exhales a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "You know."

His last shred of hope vanishes. His heart thumps in his ears. Anger at Porter bubbles up in his throat all over again. "He thinks the baby is his. _Tell_ me he's lying," he repeats.

She hears the desperation in his voice, and it breaks her heart. But it also brings her a peace she had not realized she was lacking: _he wants this baby, _she thinks. _He really wants it. _ "He's not lying, El. I'm so sorry," she says, her voice small.

"But how…"

He's incredulous, speechless, in shock. At the back of his mind he knows he should be furious with her, but he's not. He's not, because the last two weeks have changed him. He thinks back to what they went through together: endless days with only her to maintain his sanity, terrible hours during which he thought she was being assaulted, followed by days of starvation and illness, all culminating in her near-death in the cold, dark woods. After so much trauma he feels closer to Olivia than he's ever felt to anyone, and, rational or not, he simply can't bring himself to blame her for anything. He doesn't know if he'll ever be rational again when it comes to her.

"El, I want you to know, it was the night _before_ you and I… it just happened. And then the next day, somehow, you and I chose that particular day…. I'm so sorry, El, I didn't plan any of this."

He's afraid to ask. "And the baby…?"

"I just don't know," she admits. She's oddly relieved to finally have told him. "There's just no way to know until we do a test." She hesitates. "That is…"

"What?"

"That is if you _want_ to do the test…"

He nods silently, digesting the reality. "So the whole time we were locked up…"

"I wanted to tell you so badly. I almost did, so many times. You have to believe me."

"I wish you would have," he says quietly.

"No, Elliot, you don't," she asserts. "We were under enough stress as it was. You would've been upset, you would've worried more. It was for the best that I didn't tell you."

"If I had known, I wouldn't have made you –"

"What?" she interrupts, because she knows exactly how he's thinking about this. "You wouldn't have made me escape from a dangerous situation? We were going to starve to death."

"You almost died," he chokes, reliving that moment in the woods when, frozen and exhausted, she finally succumbed to her illness and collapsed in his arms.

"I almost died in that room," she retorts.

"At least that room provided some shelter and we had clean drinking water." He suppresses a shudder, still thinking of that moment. For several long, brutal seconds, before he had a chance to lay her on the ground and check her, he was certain he had lost her.

"Oh, so now you were supposed to divine that the team was only a few hours away from finding us?" She laughs. "It was the smart thing to do, for us to try that escape."

He clears his throat nervously. "Liv, I just have to ask… what made you… I mean, _him, _of all people. He hurt you..."

She lays a palm over his wrist. "Elliot, I know. But you have to understand, we had history. He came over to my place and apologized and it just happened."

"I know, but I can't believe you would forgive him."

She grows defensive. "What, you've never forgiven someone who's hurt you before?"

"I never _slept _with someone who hurt me before."

She flinches, but recovers quickly and clucks her tongue indignantly. "Then where, may I ask, did your youngest son come from?"

His face turns beet-red. He clearly has no response.

She sighs. "Look, El, you're right. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness. Promise me you won't rub my nose in it. I love _you_. I want to be with _you._"

His heart melts at her words; he sees how much she has agonized over this. "I'm sorry," he tells her. "I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again."

"Thank you."

"So, uh, what's… what's the next step?"

"I honestly don't know. Before the kidnapping I was going to do paternity testing and then tell you when I knew one way or the other."

"And if it's his? Where does that leave us?"

"To be honest, El, what I'd really like to know is if it's _yours _where does that leave us."

He crinkles his forehead in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you want to… raise another child?" she asks tentatively.

He's instantly upset by what she's insinuating. "Liv, I would never just abandon my child. Or you, for that matter. I can't believe you would even wonder about it."

"I just… you know, you've got five already. It's another burden, another college edu –"

"Do you even know me at all?" he tosses out, his voice icier than he intended.

She blinks, barely managing to conceal her hurt. "It's a fair question," she says evenly.

He forces himself to calm. "Liv, no, it's not even a question," he says softly. "If I had ten other kids out there I would want to raise all of them."

"Okay…" She feels tears butting at her eyelids, but she forces them back. _This _is the Elliot she knows and loves. She just needed to hear him say it out loud.

"So back to my question," he says. "If it's _his, _where does that leave us?"

Suddenly the very real possibility that the baby is Porter's hits her like a ton of bricks and she finds herself teetering on the verge of tears all over again. It _can't _be Porter's, she thinks. It just can't.

"I… I don't know," she fumbles. "I don't want to be with him, Elliot. I want to be with you. But I… I'll understand if you don't want –"

"Olivia," he interrupts, because he thinks his heart will break if she completes her thought, "I just want to be with you."

"I can't ask you to help me raise Porter's child."

"It's _your _child," he says with emphasis.

She's shocked by what he's implying. "You wouldn't have wanted Eli if he hadn't been yours," she counters.

He frowns. "How would you know that?"

She flinches, the way he emphasized _you _hitting her in her gut, reminding her of how little he used to confide in her. But she recovers. He is different nowadays; he has changed. She knows this. She's depending on this. "I'd been your partner for nearly ten years. I could see it in your eyes."

"It was different," he says.

"How?" she challenges.

"I love you, Liv."

She isn't fazed. "Well, you loved Kathy too and –"

"No," he stops her. "No I didn't."

"I heard you in the car that day, right before our accident. I heard you say –"

"_Olivia_," he grinds out, pushing the air out of his lips with force. "Stop."

She abruptly closes her mouth and looks up at him expectantly.

"I love _you_," he repeats. "And I want to be with you." He reaches out and touches her cheek with his fingertips. "And whomever you come with too."

x-x-x-x-x-x

**Thirteen Weeks**

Three days after Olivia and Elliot are found, Cragen, Munch and Fin are back at the precinct in New York, trying to piece together what happened.

Porter, to everyone's chagrin, has continued to hang around, wanting to help get to the bottom of who masterminded the kidnapping of the woman possibly carrying his child.

It is implicitly understood by Cragen and his team that Porter won't press charges against Elliot for beating him to a pulp provided Cragen doesn't call his superiors and let them know Porter's work with the NYPD is technically done.

Still, Fin and Munch find it hard to keep straight faces around him, so amusing to them is Elliot's handiwork on the formerly smug agent's face.

"Our dead guys are Wilson Carson and Jeffrey Da Silva," Fin announces from his computer. "They both have records, mostly petty drug collars and larceny."

"No kidnapping?" Cragen asks.

"No."

"And do we have any leads on who killed them?" Porter asks.

"None," Munch pipes up. "Only prints on Olivia's gun were Da Silva's, but it's unlikely that he killed Carson and then himself."

"Why?" Cragen asks.

"Because Olivia's prints were _not _on the gun. Which means somebody wiped it clean _after_ she last handled it. Ballistics are still going over the crime scene but odds are there was a third perp involved who did the shooting and then wiped the gun clean and placed it in Da Silva's hand after he was dead."

Porter nods perfunctorily and excuses himself to his corner of the squad where he's set up shop; it is clear he is not impressed with their detective work.

Once Porter is out of earshot, Fin leans in and says quietly to Cragen and Munch, "Do we really care who killed them? I mean, Elliot and Liv both identified Carson and Da Silva. As far as they're concerned, there wasn't a third guy involved."

"Maybe we leave this one to the FBI and call it a day," Munch adds thoughtfully. He points a thumb back at Porter, who is sitting across the room, his nose buried in a file. "I mean, the important thing is that we got our people back and Sherlock over there is dying to have something to do, and we don't specialize in kidnappings."

"No," Cragen says sternly. "No, if there is a third guy, we want to know about it. Just because Olivia and Elliot didn't _see _him, doesn't mean he wasn't responsible for what they went through. We keep investigating until we understand exactly what happened and why."


	10. Chapter 10

**Fourteen Weeks**

He lets her into his apartment and she follows his eyes straight to her abdomen. Now that she's unambiguously showing, she's trying to get used to people looking there.

"It's good to see you," he says warmly, and gestures for her to have a seat on the couch. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right," she nods. "Better than a few weeks ago."

"And the baby?"

"Baby's fine. Thank God." Her fingers unconsciously travel to her stomach as if to reassure herself the bump is still there.

She observes the boxes scattered about the apartment. "You're moving?"

"Yeah," he sighs, looking around at the mess. "I'm going back to DC. This was just a temporary place I was set up with while I was on assignment. But now that I'm done…" his voice trails off.

She nods.

"Yeah…" he continues uncomfortably. He clears his throat. "So, uh, we never talked about… I mean, you were in the hospital and I've been working your case twenty-four seven and –"

"Any leads?"

"None so far," he admits. "Please, have a seat." He gestures towards the couch.

"Thanks." Normally she would remain standing, to face him as an equal. But this pregnancy has brought with it a fatigue against which her pride is powerless.

He takes a seat next to her. "Look, Olivia, I know we didn't plan this, but I want you to know I intend to request a permanent transfer to New York so I can be here for you and support –"

She takes a deep breath and tells him what she came here to tell him. "The baby's Elliot's, Dean. I'm so… I'm so sorry."

His face instantly changes and she can see he's trying to keep his reaction intact. "Figures, you were sleeping with your partner." He attempts a sneer, but the hurt in his voice is transparent. "I should've guessed."

"I wasn't _sleeping _with him." She knows he won't believe her and that's fine; she just wants to say her piece and go home.

"So what, this was the immaculate conception?" he says sarcastically.

She blushes. "No, what I meant was, it only happened once. Anyway, look, I'm not trying to justify it or myself or… I just came here to tell you that I'm sorry. And to thank you, for helping to find us. I know you busted your tail trying to find us and I appreciate that."

"You're welcome," he replies evenly.

"Would you… really have wanted the baby to be yours?" she asks curiously.

"Like you said, Olivia, we probably wouldn't have worked out. I'm glad for you. And for your partner. You will make good parents."

"Thank you. Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me," she tells him sincerely.

"Do you want some tea?" he asks politely. "It's herbal."

"I should probably… probably get going."

His cell phone, which is lying on the coffee table in front of them, lights up. For a split second before he snatches it up and answers it, it illuminates a photo of a girl on its screen. The girl is dark-haired and looks to be in her early twenties.

She waits for him to end his conversation. "Who's the girl on your phone?" Olivia asks.

"My niece," he answers.

"Oh. I didn't know you had one. Where does she live?"

"DC."

"You stalking her?" she jokes.

"What?"

"Looks like she doesn't know there's a camera in her face." She points to the phone, alluding to the unsuspecting expression on the girl's face.

"Nah. She was up here on a visit and she hates being photographed. So I just snapped it when she wasn't looking." He shrugs and puts the phone in his pocket.

Olivia nods politely, her mind wandering. She will be skipping nieces and nephews, she muses to herself, and going straight to having a child of her own. It's a heart-warming, delicious thought, and she has to suppress a smile; she's not in the mood to explain her reverie to Dean.

She musters to get up from the couch. "I'll see you, Dean. And again, I'm sorry about what happened."

"Don't mention it, Olivia. I'm just glad you're okay. Call me sometime, okay?"

"I will." She smiles tightly. She won't call him, and both of them know it, but that's fine.

She lets herself out, and gets in the elevator, Dean's niece still on her mind.

At the exact moment when the elevator doors snap closed, Olivia realizes something.

She's seen the girl before.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Cragen sighs with resignation as he watches the familiar face traipse into the squad room. "What're you doing here, Elliot?"

"Thought I'd stop in," Elliot replies innocently.

"You take Olivia home?"

"This morning."

"How's she doing?"

"Needs plenty of rest, fluids and calories, but otherwise she's okay. Thank God."

"So I'll repeat then – what're you doing here?"

Elliot pretends to look puzzled. "I'm here… to work."

"You're not staying with her?"

Elliot's face turns red. "Well I… I thought…"

Cragen can't suppress a laugh. "You think I'm an idiot? I think the cat's out of the bag with you two."

"Okay," he stammers, not sure how to respond.

"Go be with her."

"But… what about… "

"The partnership?"

"Well, yeah."

"Seems to me Olivia should be part of that conversation, don't you think?"

"Yes."

Cragen lays a hand on his shoulder. "You've been through hell. Take some time off."

"Is that an order?"

"Yes."

"But I want to figure out what happened to us," he whines.

"That's for us to do," Cragen asserts. "Your partner needs you. She's had it rougher than you. She needs support right now. That's all that should matter."

Reluctantly, Elliot agrees. "Thanks, Captain."

As his detective turns to go, Cragen realizes he meant to ask him something . "Elliot, wait."

"Yeah?"

"Remind me again when it was they started taking Olivia to give her food?"

Elliot furrows his brows and thinks. "Eleven days in. Why?"

Cragen frowns. "No reason. Go home."

After Elliot's gone, Cragen pulls out his calendar and counts to eleven.

And then his eyes widen in disbelief.

x-x-x-x-x-x

When Olivia gets home from Porter's, she gets on her computer and conducts a search.

Then she gathers some things, and heads back out.

x-x-x-x-x-x

"Elliot!" Cragen calls, having rushed outside to find his detective still on the sidewalk outside the precinct, about to get into his car.

Elliot turns his head.

"Where's Olivia right now?" Cragen asks.

Elliot comes back to the stoop, where Cragen is standing. "At home. Why?"

"Call her."

"What?"

Cragen clucks his tongue impatiently. "_Call _her."

Elliot pulls out his phone. "Actually, there's a text from her."

"_And_?"

Elliot is curious as to why Cragen is so interested in this.

"It just says she went to Porter's and to… " He crinkles his brow. "Okay, this is weird, it says to meet her there."

"Get in my car and call her," Cragen barks. "And not in that order."

x-x-x-x-x-x

"Olivia?" he says with surprise, as he opens the door to her for the second time in several hours. "Did you forget something here?"

"The girl on your cell phone," she says. "She's not your niece, is she?"

Porter's expression remains neutral. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't have any siblings. I checked."

Porter is quiet; Olivia monitors his facial reaction. Beneath his aloof exterior, he is rattled. She can tell.

"I knew I recognized her," she continues casually, stepping fully inside the apartment. "She's the supposed sister of Jeffrey Da Silva. He lured us into that alley on the pretense that his sister was passed out. That's the girl whose photo is in your cell phone."

Porter doesn't respond.

"All I want to know is why. Why Dean?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do."

He pauses, his eyes never leaving her. He is assessing, calculating, judging the situation.

And then he tells her. "You were getting too close to breaking the case."

"What?" She's genuinely shocked. "You? _You _were the head of that kiddie porn ring?"

"Not the head."

"So, what then? Were you receiving kickbacks? To make sure the FBI stayed off its scent?"

Dean is silent and all at once Olivia knows she has hit the nail on the head.

"I can't believe this," she whispers.

"It's not what you think," he says lamely.

"It's not what I think?" She laughs, incredulous. "You must've made millions off that porn," she accuses.

"I didn't make _millions _Olivia," he snorts.

"You made enough that you didn't care that children were being exploited," she huffs.

"Oh get off your fucking high horse," he sneers. He takes a small step towards her.

"You did this," she murmurs, more to herself, as the full extent of the situation washes over her. "You set the whole thing up. You had us kidnapped. All to protect yourself…"

"I knew that your squad would stop investigating once you and your partner went missing. That's all I wanted. Was for you and him to be gone for a bit until all of it blew over."

"You bastard! We could've died in there."

"They were instructed to feed you and treat you well," he says, like this ought to mollify her.

"Treat us well?" she huffs, " Ha! They kept us locked in a basement for days. They fed us candy bars, probably from some vending machine."

He has the decency to look contrite. "I didn't know you were pregnant. Once I found out, I made sure they fed you well."

"Yeah, only because you thought it was your baby. You didn't care about me."

"That's not true!" he protests.

"You risked my life, Dean. What if those guys had hurt us? You were taking it on faith that they'd follow your instructions."

For the first time in the conversation, Porter lets down his guard and visibly flinches. "Olivia, did they… did one of them…"

She notes the quiver in his voice, how his Adam's apple bobbles as he leaves the question dangling. He is unsure of what they did to her, which means he hardly vetted them at all. Suddenly it hits her just how lucky she got. "No. No, they didn't. But they _could _have. And do you know what that would've done to me? Do you have any clue?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and she believes that he genuinely is.

"One question, Dean. Why didn't you just have us killed right away?"

He pretends to be shocked, scandalized by her question, but she knows that he is not. Whatever he did, he thought through carefully. "It would've been too suspicious. Also, I couldn't…" He lets it trail off.

"They were going to kill us eventually though, weren't they?" she presses.

"Olivia – "

"Come on, Dean, don't deny it. There was no way they could've kept us alive. We could identify them. You found out I was pregnant and you thought it was yours and so you had to improvise, and so you killed them."

"No, my plan was to kill them all along. I didn't want to kill you. I just wanted you gone… long enough that everyone would forget about the kiddie porn case."

"But you would've had to kill us," she insists.

"No, I was going to kill _them._"

"Bullshit! You only did it when you found out I was pregnant!"

"No! No, I just… accelerated the process."

"So, what? You were gonna leave us in there for what, a month?"

"Just for a few weeks. Until the case blew over and I was sure your squad was no longer interested. I learned from the last one, you guys are very…. persistent. I never meant to hurt you."

"You never _meant _to? Are you kidding me?" she laughs. "We almost died in there."

"I never thought you'd get sick like that. I'm so sorry, Olivia."

"Forget about getting sick! We were stuck in a basement cell eating candy bars for a week. Those guys pointed our own guns at our heads."

"I know," he nods. "But I knew you two were tough. And like I said, they were instructed not to hurt –"

"They were _instructed. _They were _instructed_," she scoffs. "You keep saying that. But who exactly was going to stop them if they did? You?"

He's silent.

She looks up at him, her head cocked with genuine curiosity. "How did you expect to get away with this?"

"Olivia," he says calmly, "is there any special reason why you think I don't intend to?"

And with that, he pulls out his service revolver and points it at her.


	11. Chapter 11

"You're not going to shoot me, Dean," Olivia tells him, though her hands are already tentatively in the air and she has unconsciously backed up a step.

"Don't count on it," he growls. "I'm heartless, remember?"

"You can get out of this," she says. "My squad still thinks Reslow was involved, that there's a connection between him and Da Silva and Wilson. I'm figuring you just concocted that lead to throw them off, but they don't have to know that."

_What's taking him so long? _she thinks.

In her coat pocket, her phone vibrates. She casually sticks her hand inside and hits the side button to stop its buzzing. She waits a second, and then her finger expertly travels across the device from memory, first locating the speaker button, and then 'send.' She presses it twice.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

From the passenger seat of Cragen's car, Elliot's phone rings. His eyes widen as he sees Olivia's name on the display. Cragen looks at Elliot from the driver's seat and puts his index finger to his lips.

Elliot nods and answers the phone without saying hello. He listens for a second and puts it on speaker.

Someone barks: "Hands where I can see them!"

Elliot flinches. He knows that voice.

"My DNA was in Reslow's van," they hear Olivia say. "I assume you planted a hair of mine there. It'll be pretty hard for Reslow's lawyer to argue that though. With all the drugs they found, he's as good as finished."

Cragen catches the eyes of his passengers in the car. Elliot covers the phone's tiny mike with his thumb and everyone nods back their understanding: nobody say a word, because if Porter figures out that Olivia's on the phone, she's a goner.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Elliot and his colleagues eavesdrop all the way up Porter's stairwell. They listen to Porter explain how it couldn't be helped that Olivia and her partner were not found for three full days after he, Porter, killed Da Silva and Wilson. That's how long it took for the bodies to be discovered and for Ballistics to identify the gun as Olivia's. Porter tells it like it wasn't his fault at all; the squad should have been quicker to connect the dots.

Elliot feels his blood boil at this admission, as he thinks back to how weak and frail his partner grew as the hours dragged on without food. He wants to bash Porter's skull in.

But as they creep up to Porter's door, Elliot confronts the reality of the situation. This is no petty pissing contest between him and Porter; his partner is in grave danger. And so he forces himself to buck up, to swallow his emotions, and to focus on the task at hand: Olivia needs him right now, but she needs him to be a cop. His guttural hatred for Porter will do her no good. And so for her sake, he will stop thinking like a jealous lover, like a man in love, like a potential father-to-be, and he will only think like a cop.

Elliot tests the door handle; it is locked.

Guns drawn, Elliot silently counts to three with his fingers. Cragen, Fin and Munch nod in unison.

On three, Elliot kicks the door in.

As expected, Olivia is standing across the room from Porter, her back nearly against the far wall. Her hands are in the air. Her pregnancy is blatantly visible now, and Elliot winces at the glaring reminder of how vulnerable she is.

"Drop it, Porter," he snarls.

Elliot points his gun at Dean. Dean, in turn, keeps his gun trained on Olivia. Cragen, Fin and Munch shuffle quietly into the room, pointing their guns at Porter. The six form a hexagon around the room. Olivia is the only one who is unarmed.

Elliot narrows his eyes at Porter. "You gonna shoot a pregnant woman who's carrying your child? Come on, Dean, don't be stupid here."

"She says it's yours!" Dean hisses.

Only Olivia detects the subtle way Elliot raises his eyebrows, stifling a startle reaction.

"Come on, Dean, we know this isn't you," Cragen pipes up. "Put the gun down and this can end peacefully."

"Dean, what happened to you?" Olivia whispers.

Elliot glances at his partner. He wonders if the disappointment and disillusionment in her voice is genuine, or if this is the detective in her, letting some emotion kick in for the sake of appealing to Dean's conscience.

"Shut up!" Porter snaps.

Elliot abruptly shifts his attention back to Porter. He watches him closely. The man is starting to sweat. Elliot knows Porter likes Olivia and he believes he would not hurt her all else being equal, but all else is _not_ equal. The man has spent his career perfecting the skill of suppressing his emotions when he has to. His feelings for Olivia won't save her. Especially now that he knows the baby isn't his.

_Why did she go ahead and tell him? _Elliot thinks miserably. He's thrilled about the news, but all the same he would cede paternity to Porter in a heartbeat if it meant he would let her go unharmed.

Without warning, Porter points his gun at Elliot.

Olivia takes the opportunity and charges across the room, in Porter's direction.

A shot rings out and for a second, the echo of the bullet reverberating is the only sound in the room.

And then all hell breaks loose.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It all seems to happen in slow motion. At the back of Elliot's mind, he can't help but be reminded of the incident at JFK.

JFK: When his partner fell to the ground after the person holding a gun to her head got shot by Porter.

Only this time it's not Porter who has shot the perp. This time, he _is _the perp.

And this time Olivia isn't springing up to inform him that she's fine. Instead, she's sprawled motionless on the floor, and her eyes are closed.

"Olivia! Oh my God!" Elliot screams, rushing to her side and dropping to his knees.

He picks up her head, and lays it on his lap, holding her.

And it's the airport all over again.

There's chaos all around him as Fin and Cragen tackle Porter to the ground. Somewhere behind him he hears Munch radioing for an ambulance. But Elliot tunes it all out. All he can process is what's in front of him: Olivia, the love of his life, pregnant with his sixth child, lying still on the floor. He's already crying, trying desperately to suppress the voice gnawing at the part of his brain that isn't in shock, whispering to him that she's dead, and his life will never be the same. He pulls her head deeper into his lap and cradles it against his body, already mourning.

His grief is so powerful, it takes a full minute for it to register that the only sign of wetness on her is the torrent of tears he's shed all over her.

There's no blood.

Frantically, he checks her. Her front, her sides; mindful of her pregnant midsection, he gently turns her to check her back too.

Nothing.

And then she opens her eyes, squints up at him and groans in pain. "Son of a bitch. Didn't think that would hurt so much."

His eyes widen in shock.

She starts to pull at her shirt and he wonders what she's doing, if she's delusional. Or if he is.

And then he sees it.

She's wearing a vest.

She is fine.

And so it is like the airport after all.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

They force her, kicking and screaming, to go to the hospital anyway. They give her a stern lecture about how dangerous it was to have done what she did, that vests aren't full proof, that she has to start thinking like a mother, not a cop. She resents the lecture, even though she knows they're right.

But she also knows that she can never shed her true identity, no matter how many new ones she takes on. And for that, she's not sorry. She is a cop. She will always be a cop. She wants her child to know this.

After she's examined, she pulls out the tape recorder she had in her jacket pocket and hits play. Everyone whistles as they hear the full extent of Porter's deception, marveling that he nearly pulled it off. That they trusted him in their squad room.

Cragen sighs. "I knew we had him, but this kind of proof just makes everyone's lives easier," he admits. "Not that I condone what you did," he adds, looking pointedly at Olivia.

"Who needs digital-this and digital-that?" Munch pipes up. "Good, old-fashioned tape recorder still does the trick."

Olivia grins.

Elliot frowns. If Porter had found this on her, there isn't a doubt in his mind he would've killed her.

Cragen informs the group that the detectives questioning Porter asked him why he used Olivia's gun – of all guns – to kill the kidnappers. Cragen says Porter acted surprised by the question; surely everyone understands that he _wanted _Olivia and Elliot to be found.

They snort at this.

And then they think about it. That lead indeed saved their lives. Perhaps Porter has a heart in him after all.

But none of it matters now, Elliot thinks. Olivia and the baby are safe, and Porter's out of her life for good.

Elliot wheels her out after they've confirmed she didn't sustain any injuries from the force of the bullet and that the baby is fine too.

Once again he knows he should be furious with her, for the kind of risk she took. But he's not. He's not, because he knows that this is who she is, that he can't change her. Nor does he really want to.

Also, he's got something more important on his mind.

"It's really mine?" he asks as they settle into the backseat of the cab.

She sees the tears in his eyes. Even after all they've been through together and their talk in the hospital upstate, she's still taken aback by the emotion he displays. She doesn't know how to get used to such demonstrativeness from him.

"That's what I told him," she nods, looking into his eyes, searching them.

"I can't believe it," he chokes.

"You're happy?" she asks.

"Put it this way," he says, taking her hand in his. "Three hours ago I would have done anything for it to be his so that I could know he wouldn't hurt you." He pulls her close and kisses her temple. "But now that you're safe, I'm overjoyed. I wanted this so badly."

She closes her eyes, tears welling up.

When they return to her apartment, Olivia asks Elliot to run down to the corner bodega to pick up some sandwiches; she is starving, she tells him, and, as usual, her fridge is bare.

As soon as he's gone, she heads to the lobby to retrieve her mail.

There's an envelope amongst the junk. It's from the lab.

She gets back upstairs to the apartment and sits down on the couch, envelope in hand.

She stares at it for a full minute before she gets up, still clutching the unopened piece of mail, and heads to her bathroom.

And then she tears the envelope to shreds and flushes the pieces down the toilet.

_The end_


End file.
